


All Part of the Job

by humblydefiant



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humblydefiant/pseuds/humblydefiant
Summary: Gil Brodie has the worst job in the world. Officially, he is a chauffeur for a millionaire but his actual duties go far beyond sitting behind wheel of a limo. Mechanic. Gopher. And, oh yeah, being chaperone for his boss' playboy son. A pretty boy named Scott who has everything: money, looks and a horde of admirers. Gil wants so desperately to despise him and at times he can even persuade himself that he does.One night of Scott's drunken debauchery will end in a way that will change Gil forever.





	All Part of the Job

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot inspired by a writing prompt (though I took artistic license in the interpretation [sorry]). This may become something larger later since I had so much fun writing it and already my imagination is jaunting off without me to follow the white rabbit. But for now, take this for what you will.
> 
> Heaps of love and thanks to my two betas who helped me spot many problems. I'm sure I worked even more problems into the story but those would be my fault! Love to [ellebeedarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebeedarling/pseuds/ellebeedarling) and [sunwisecircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwisecircles/pseuds/sunwisecircles)! You both are amazing! Mwah, mwah.

Gil Brodie stood against the wall of a urine soaked nightclub bathroom, hands folded, back straight. Trying his damndest to look professional. Kind of difficult with the sounds of grunts and vomiting echoing out of sync with the thrumming bass. For lack of anything better to do he flipped his name badge up and studied it. Still said “Chauffeur” below his name; nothing about being the “Babysitter for a Spoiled Assed Party Boy.” Strange. Perhaps he should send in for a new one.

That party boy now stood hunched over a urinal, a stream of piss cascading down the bowl. Well, mostly in the bowl. Scott Ryder starred down into the porcelain. Gil couldn’t tell if he was looking for wisdom or working really hard not to throw up. He was sure that would come sometime before the night was over. It often did.

“Fuck! What did I drink?”

Gil hoped that was a rhetorical question. Was he to start keeping a ledger of Scott’s myriad alcoholic endeavors? He doubted he could even identify whatever free drinks came Scott’s way from all of his admirers. Though some merely admired the money, Scott was quite easy on the eyes, so boys and girls alike kept the drinks coming. As for the chauffeur, well, he was trying really hard not to look while Scott stood with dick in hand. Instead, he examined the wall, the floor, fixed his own hair in the mirror. 

Gil Brodie only had one thing in his power to deny the boy who had everything - his attention. Anything outside the purview of his ever expanding job requirements, Gil did his best to withhold. He refused to be one more person fawning over Scott’s beauty and he usually succeeded. Not that Scott ever noticed but it was an act of defiance nonetheless.

The steady stream of piss finally slowed to a trickle and Scott turned without bothering to flush. Or tuck his stuff away, apparently. Gil gave an “ahem” and a nod. Don’t look at it, Brodie, so help me. But he did. Just a glance. He’d seen it before in situations such as this. Not overly big but pretty, with a well defined head. He wanted to look more but managed to avert his eyes.

Scott looked down in feigned oblivion. “Whoops,” he chuckled as he shoved the wayward member back in. He didn’t pull up his zipper but Gil refused to help him any further. He should have just let him walk out with his dick out. Would serve him right. Of course, that would only have sent a fresh wave of drinks and fawning sycophants his way and Gil would have had to deal with that aftermath: a ragingly drunk and horny Scott, throwing up in the limo yet again, an entourage of rowdy sexual exploits in tow.

He checked his watch. Two in the morning. Too early but he’d try. “We should get you home.”

Scott stumbled toward him. He stopped just inches from Gil’s face, his features screwed into something meant to be imposing. But whatever line of thought he might have had seemed to get lost in the fog. His scowl morphed into a smile. A hand shot upward to pat Gil on the head. “What hair gel do you use. Fluffy.” And he belched.

Gil flinched at the wave of alcohol and bile that swept into his nostrils. “I’ll take that as a no.” 

“I’m drunk. I just need to dance this off,” he slurred, already floundering towards the door, knocking shoulders with one of the guys entering the bathroom.

Gil stayed close on his heels. 

Scott wheeled to position himself behind Gil and pushed his bodyguard off towards the bar. “Why don’t you go get yourself a drink on me?” With that he launched himself backwards into the pulsating crowd.

Sure. I’ll just have a drink and lose my job. No problem, you little turd. God, the boy was so clueless. Despite Gil being only a few years older, the difference in their maturity levels made him feel a generation ahead of the kid.

No drink. He did however go perch by the edge of the bar, a decent vantage point for him to watch daddy’s precious son peel his shirt off and worm himself between a man and a woman who had very little space to spare between them. They both welcomed him in and started groping at him. Unbelievable. It was like Scott had a super power or something. Irresistible to both men and women regardless of sexual orientation. Only a few brave souls had ever withstood the charm of Scott Ryder. 

A fact Gil’s gay ass both admired and despised. 

God, he wanted a drink. He wanted a man, too, but he was much too busy chaperoning party boy in addition to his other duties for the senior Ryder to have any kind of lovelife of his own. He barely had the energy at the end of a shift to rub one out in the shower, thinking about the one person who deserved it least. It didn’t help to be a captive audience to episodes such as tonight as he watched Scott making out with the woman at his front as a muscled stud ground into his ass, hands around Scott’s tight stomach. Just one more image for his spank bank.

I hate my life.

“That’s quite a sigh.”

Gil hadn’t noticed the man immediately to his left, finger rimming his full shot glass, eyebrow arched in curiosity - or amusement. The smile seemed genuine, though Gil had the immediate sense that being suave might be encoded into the man’s DNA. Impeccably dressed in a black suit of all things, attire out of place in this swarm of sweaty, half-naked bodies, yet he made it look natural. More comfortable than Gil felt in his own similar uniform.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude.” He offered a hand and a nod. “Reyes.”

Gil took the proffered hand, his gaze falling in step with those smoky tango eyes. He could dance there all night. “Gil.”

“Your hands appear desperately empty. May I buy you a drink?”

God, he’d love one but - “No, thank you. I’m with him.”

Reyes followed the tilt of Gil’s head to Scott. “Him? I hate to state the obvious but he appears to be with her.” Indeed, Scott now seemed to have moved on to a different woman in a slinky red dress whose arms encircled Scott’s neck. She appeared ready to devour him. Gil rolled his eyes. This could be an even longer night than usual. That offer for a drink looked mighty enticing.

“Well, we aren’t together. I’m working.” Fuck, that sounded wrong, given Reyes look of amused surprise. “Not that kind of working. I’m - ugh, it’s complicated.” He tapped a finger just under his name tag, though he felt certain Reyes had already taken the information into account.

A ribbon of laughter slipped from Reyes’ lips. “You are adorable. And it’s too bad that you are - working. I would have loved to dance.” His hand swooped towards his inside pocket and produced a card. It stood erect between his middle and index finger. “Should you ever not be working - if that is not too presumptuous of me.”

Could the man be too presumptuous? Gil had his doubts. He also doubted that he could have chosen not to take the offered card. The gold embossing glimmered in the neon lights. It held his name, a contact number, an email - and nothing else. “So, what do you do, Mr. Vidal?”

Gil lifted his gaze from the card to an empty seat. What the? He nearly gave himself whiplash as his gaze swept the club. No sign of the latin god who had just offered him a drink. Had someone slipped him a hallucinogenic? The empty shot glass on the counter along with a tip for the bartender served as the only evidence of the stranger’s former presence. And the card.

The bartender swept up the glass and tip.

“Did you -”

The harried woman stood there expectantly. 

“Nevermind.” He took a final look at the business card. He flipped it over. The other side was black with a blood red Fluer-de-lis. This told him nothing. He shook his head. Back to work.

He looked back towards the dance floor certain Scott would have changed partners yet again by now. The woman in the red dress was gone. So was Scott.

FUCK!

Where did the piss ant go to now? Gil studied the bobbing faces on the dance floor but caught no sign of him. His eyes swept over to the tables and booths. Quite likely Mr. Casanova had pulled someone over to the shadows for a make out and/or groping session as he often did. Usually more than one person a night or at a time. 

Nothing.

He launched himself toward the bathrooms. Praying at the porcelain altar? His next best guess for Scott’s disappearance and had often proven to be true on the few times Gil had lost track of his ward. He checked both the men’s and women’s bathrooms and found nothing more than raised eyebrows, two girls making out in a corner and a startled guy who had retreated to a bathroom stall to partake in his own brand of recreation. “Um, sorry.”

Where could he be? He took his work phone from his pocket, flicked it open and hit a preset. 

“Hey, ‘sup? Scott Ryder here. Don’t make me say more.” Beep.

Gil pinched the bridge of his nose trying not to lose his shit. Or at least, not to sound like he was. “Mr. Ryder, this is Gil. I - you slipped away from me. Give me a call back when you get this.”

The phone snapped shut on his career. He stepped back out of the bathroom and scanned the crowd once more, praying for that well-coiffed head to be bouncing out on the dance floor. No sign. Think, Brodie. He pressed the folded phone to his mouth and pinched the lobe of his ear, though he didn’t notice that he had done either of these things.

Scott had never just left before. He was the type of person to take someone home with him not vice versa. Impressing his conquest with his limo, his own driver, his wing of the house. It was a kink for him. Perhaps he was already at the car? Had to be. Or, at least, the place he would eventually end up.

The cold night air soaked through Gil’s blazer, his breath turning to vapor as soon as he stepped out onto the street. The valet nodded and turned to retrieve the car but Gil stopped him with a pat on the elbow. The man turned, surprised.

“You haven’t seen Mr. Ryder come through, have you?” 

“No. Shall I get the car?”

“I can just keep it parked right out front right?”

The man shrugged red-clad shoulders. Lip turned up to express disinterest. 

“Okay. Get it.”

Moments later, Gil sat in the limo, the windows down despite the frigid air. Heater blasting in vain. Gil worried his fingers with the task of thrumming the steering wheel. Panic bubbled in his stomach. And anger. The little shit had gone too far this time and it may very well cost him his job.

“Waiting for your friend?”

The words flitted through the window. Gil couldn’t stop a smile despite his anxiety as he took in the man leaning forward, a casual hand on the car to steady him, other hand tucked into his jacket pocket.

“Mr. Vidal.” 

“Reyes, please.”

“Sure. Reyes. You haven’t seen him have you?”

Something glinted in Reyes’ eyes, there for a split second but quickly removed and replaced with his stock calm and confidence. His glance darted toward the alley just across the street. “I did. She took him in there.”

What the everloving devil? “Down the alley? Why?”

Reyes shrugged. He seemed to be contemplating something, though Gil was certain Mr. Vidal had greater concerns than where a stupid kid had run off with his date - like what he was going to order for breakfast in the morning from his chef. A tongue darted out to wet his lips and the lower of the two folded in between teeth before he parted them to speak. “Kids today, hmmm? But, perhaps you should check on him.”

Alarms were going off in Gil’s head and he listened. The whole scenario felt odd and he began to wonder if Reyes knew more about the situation then he let on. Dread curled up in his stomach like a lap cat and purred ominous warnings. But what choice did he have, really? Perhaps Reyes wanted only to lure Gil down a dark alley to mug him. Wouldn’t matter much. He didn’t carry more than twenty dollars; and the clothes on his back were the property of his employer. Hell, even his rolex watch was only a loan, an attempt to make the help look presentable.

On the other hand, if Scott had been lured down the alley for a similar purpose - well, now he would be a catch with a wallet full of daddy’s credit cards. Was Reyes part of the plot or genuinely offering help. Only one way to find out.

With a huff, Gil pushed the door open, Reyes sweeping out of the way as if it were no inconvenience whatsoever. Such men as Vidal couldn’t be inconvenienced by such men as Brodie, so Gil supposed that simply fit. Gil offered a wan smile - whether as a signal of thanks or surrender, he wasn’t sure. “Thanks,” is what he said. “Guess I’d better go check on him.”

Reyes nodded, that shadow flitting across his face once more. He did not move to follow Gil across street. Only his stare fell at his back. Gil could feel it on his neck though he didn’t turn back. He kept his own focus on the dark alley. He wanted this to be over and done.

He turned the corner and waited for his eyes to adjust. The dim street still offered far more illumination then the space between the two buildings. He could make out a dumpster first. Some darkened windows. And - was that a flash of eye shine? A racoon maybe. No. The angle was all wrong. And the color. They had been red.

Gil could feel the bumps of flesh rising under his jacket. The increased pressure in his ears created a sharp ringing that certainly didn’t help the situation any.

And he was done. He turned, ready to make a deliberate march back to the vehicle. If Scott was waiting for him there, all would be forgiven. If not, he’d face the consequences in the morning. Not that he would be sleeping any tonight.

Something between a whimper and gurgle stopped him. A male voice he felt certain. Could be anyone. A drunk homeless man, most likely. But he knew who it was. The knowledge formed the very marrow of his bones. 

Scott.

A brick tugged at his pants leg. He picked it up and held it high. Ready to strike if need be. Who the fuck was he kidding? He was ready to wet his pants and that was all. But he held it aloft anyway and crept forward. At least his eyes were adjusting a bit now and he could see a form hunched against the wall, just on the far side of the dumpster. Just the right height to hold the eyes he’d seen shining earlier.

But the figure wasn’t looking at him now. It seemed to be focused on something against the wall, head moving and bobbing. Making a slurping sound. The person seemed to be straddling something. Then he could make out a dress. A red dress. Hair swept back into a bun thingie, flecks of auburn catching reflected light. The woman Scott had last been seen with.

He opened his mouth to ask what the hell she was doing. Was she throwing up? Or had she gotten the munchies and helped herself to a discarded sandwich from the dumpster? But other details were coming to light.

First, a pair of legs. The ones she straddled - their toes pointed skyward. Then a hand limp on the pavement, palm up. The fingers wiggled, reaching out or pulling in, neither successfully. Then the head, bent sideways, face paler than usual. Blue eyes wide with fear looking straight at Gil.

“Scott?”

His words echoed between the walls and the woman-in-red’s head snapped away from Scott’s neck. Blood oozed from jagged teeth. It mixed with spittle that flew from her mouth as she panted. Some of her bangs had worked loose from their former restraints to frame wild eyes that seemed to take him in without understanding.

His arm snapped without any direction from his head, hurling the brick at the woman who had already turned his way, ready to launch. It connected with her forehead with a crunch. The demon woman wailed and leapt away from Scott. Upward, of all places. Strait up. And she (it?) disappeared over the roof ledge. Gil stared at the night sky she had disappeared into, not believing his senses. It was Scott’s choking yelp that brought him back down into the legs that carried him to the victim’s side.

“Mr. Ryder! Scott! What the - oh shit.”

Blood gushed from the wound in Scott’s neck. A waterfall of red cascaded down his white shirt, the stain spreading across his chest and down his sides. His arm twitched as he tried to lift it, but twitching was all it could muster. Lips of a pale blue hue opened and closed, the exertion to speak only sending more blood bubbling from his neck.

Gil ripped his jacket open and sheared it from his arms to press against the gash. He vomited words, all the words that he’d always made fun of in movies when characters of gave false hope. He said them now. Prayed them. “It’s gonna be alright, Scott. Stay with me. I’m going to get you help.”

He scooped up Scott’s floundering hand - god, it felt like ice. He pulled him forward and cradled his left arm at his back. The jacket fell away. Shit. Blood splattered against Gil’s face but he paid it no mind, though he pulled away from Scott to switch sides. With the jacket in his right hand, he threaded his right arm between Scott and the wall, jacket coming up to staunch the blood. His left arm pulled under his knees and he lifted. He expected to strain but the man proved impossibly light.

“Reyes,” he shouted, even as he took off towards the street in a trot. He turned the corner and made long strides towards the car, his mind reeling. So many things vyed for his attention. The fact that Reyes had vanished. Along with everyone else for that matter. Though the music still soaked through the walls of the club, the street held not a soul save his own and the one he carried. The car was running. Had he left it on? How careless. The door in the back of the limo stood open, though he felt certain it had not been so before.

He wondered about all of this but he didn’t stop until he tucked Scott into the back seat. He closed the door behind them before getting to work trying to stop the blood. God, it was everywhere, already pooling in the floorboard. Scott’s breathing now had a whistling quality to it, it’s notes at the top range of human hearing.

“Look at me. Look at me, Scott.”

The eyes turned to him obediently but didn’t appear to be seeing. The gasping mouth opened and closed but Gil couldn’t tell if Scott attempted to say something or merely worked for air. He pressed down on the sopping wet jacket, willing the blood to stop.

A sound, thin as mist, escaped Scott’s whitened lips. It sounded like Gil’s name. It was his last breath. The hand, merely limp before, now fell completely slack. His eyes, still fixed on Gil’s, held no light at all. 

Gil’s own breath seized in his throat as all the oxygen seemed to escape from the car, from the world. He could do nothing but stare at the ghost before him, so full of life just an hour ago. Now dead. The night had turned to nightmare and Gil felt immersed in the existential haze of it. That feeling of knowing one is in a bad dream but unable to wake from it.

When motor functions returned, well before any rational thought, he leaned to press his lips against Scott’s cold forehead. Then he shut Scott’s eyes, fingertips resting there longer than necessary. He was outside of the car, sharp breaths forming soft clouds, before the panic set in.

And he screamed. The wail reverberated down the street absent of ears to absorb it. Still, he felt unbearably visible and self-conscious. He retreated back into the car, into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door. His fingers curled around the wheel and he wrung it, it’s grooves biting into his flesh.

Tears welled. He held them back. If he let them out he might dissolve to water. He dammed them, though some defiantly streamed down his face. His heart. His breathing. His mind. Everything raced and all he wanted to do was to slow down time. Reverse it if possible.

Think, Brodie.

He should call the police. And tell them what? The truth? Hardly. How would they believe him when he didn’t even believe it himself? He could make up some story. Scott was making out with this woman when the hickey she was giving him went terribly awry?

Gil laughed out loud. A whimpery, guttural sound that sounded as absurd as he felt. More tears took the momentary distraction as an opportunity to sneak out. His hands kept wringing the steering wheel.

He thought about going to Scott’s dad but quickly nixed that idea. He’d be safer going to the police. Every road before him lead to either being killed himself or put in jail. Perhaps both. He only knew that he couldn’t stay here. It took him a good ten minutes of staring out on the stupidly deserted street before he took the next step, the only action he could think to take. Just drive and figure out the rest as he went.

He reached for the keys in the ignition.

Oh, yeah. It was already running.

Get it together, Gil.

The glass divider between the cab of the car and the passenger section exploded. An arm locked around his throat and pulled. Gill had let go of the steering wheel from the shock and with no seat belt on, his body gave no resistance as he went head first through the hole. The jagged glass sliced through his shoulder and leg.

He gripped and pulled at the arm around his neck restricting his oxygen. Legs flailed but he could not stop being dragged along the length of the limo until his attacker stopped and flipped over to straddle him, hands now adjusted to hold Gil’s head and chest to the floor.

Scott towered over him, mouth gapped to reveal jagged teeth. Bloody saliva dripped from his mouth. Once blue eyes burned red with viceral hunger and they drank Gil in for a moment. They looked not at Gil’s face but at his throat. Scott’s hand forced Gil’s head to the side to lay his jugular bare.

Gil thrashed. His hands clawing at Scott’s arms. Pushing against his attacker’s body. He even punched at the side of the monster’s head but to no avail. The body Gil had carried moments ago, then feather light, now perched as immovable stone, impervious to Gil’s attempt at survival.

Finally, he shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see what he knew to be coming. In what he knew to be his last moments, he surrendered to a silly thought. How typical. To die trapped in the same vehicle that had trapped him in life.

He’d wanted so much more. A lover. A family. To visit the stars. He could be certain now that none of that was to be.

And to be killed by the one person he’d been stupid enough to dream having all that with. The one person he loved to hate. And hated to love. 

“Scott.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Of course, “loud” was too good a term for it. Whispered. Whimpered. Those descriptions would have sufficed.

Tears flowed freely now. He squeezed his eyes to flush them out. And he waited.

The tearing of flesh didn’t come. Not even the hot breath of a predator sniffing his meal before diving in. The hand that held Gil’s head to the floor with near crushing strength loosened it’s grasp somewhat, fingers working at strands of red hair as one might knead the sand on a lazy day at the beach. Daydreaming.

Gil risked attempting to shift his head. Scott’s hand didn’t move away but allowed for him to turn his head enough to meet eyes that had returned to their crystal blue, beautiful but no doubt they still belonged to a wild creature. No. Scott was there, somewhere behind them.

“Scott?” Gil spoke louder this time. With purpose. Calling to the man inside the beast, whose chest rose and fell in rugged gasps. 

This question seemed to anger it and it leaned in, teeth bared. It’s hot breath blasted across Gil’s face. It smelled - sweet. Of all things. Like raspberries. Not quite but that’s all that Gil could think of.

“Don’t. Please.” Tears left trails of lava on his face, already flushed by Scott’s breath and his own increased blood flow. “Please.” He choked the last word, punctuated with spittle and snot. “Please.” A whisper now.

Scott moved with a speed that seemed to elude Scott’s senses, a mere blur of white fabric and crimson blood. He knew only that Scott fled out the door of the limo to be swallowed by the dark.

Car still running. Door ajar alarm dinging. And Gil could only lie there and sob.


End file.
